Something Called a Heart
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Alfred meets up with Gilbert and they discuss their life and descent into old age. A one-shot, human AU.


Dark clouds bruised the amber sky. Alfred peered at them through the window, from his seat in the café. The waitress came by and poured him another mug of steaming coffee. He smiled wanly at her but she had turned away, vanishing into the bustling crowd in the shop. He stirred it listlessly, watching the crowds migrate through the city, tall and short and businessmen and tourists. He stood suddenly, catching sight of a familiar face. Hot tears stung his eyes and he dropped a few coins on the table, rushing out into the street.

Alfred merged into the crowd, shoving past and looking at each face, frantically searching for he thought he had seen. Yet the memory of it dissolved as he never found the person. People shoved past him, standing rigid in the middle of the flow, his eyes wide. He nodded to himself, remembering that it was in vain to search for his kid brother in this crowd. Matthew wouldn't be here. Alfred stepped out of the crowd and crossed the street, trailing back to his apartment and zipping up his coat. His chest felt heavy as though his heart wanted to squeeze through his ribs. A pain struck his stomach and head, white spots of light danced in front of his eyes. Nausea rose in his throat and the world twisted in front of him. He stopped and grabbed onto a building, leaning against the brick walls and closing his eyes, waiting for the pain to pass.

"Alfred?"

He pried his eyes open and looked blearily at the speaker. His lips trembled into a smile, "Hey Gilbert,"

Gilbert frowned, "You look worse than I do, can I help?" His high cheek bones stuck out on sallow skin. His sanguine eyes had the look of a man resigned to death and his teeth were yellow from a lack of care.

"Nah, just a bit of a stomach ache," Alfred lied, "I think I drank some bad coffee." He stood straighter, rubbing his temples. "Care to take a walk?"

"Just what I was doing," Gilbert said.

The two walked down the streets until the crowd thinned and the green of the park came into view. They walked down the stone pathway. Blue mist loped before them, obscuring their vision. Black spots of dark jacks and laughter punctured through the water droplets.

"How are you coping?" Alfred asked.

"How are _you_ coping, Alfred?" Gilbert responded.

"Badly," Alfred admitted.

"I'm not too well either, but the pain doesn't lessen, I only get used to it."

"I'd hate to get used to it."

"Why?"

"I want to continue feeling. I don't want to feel fake with only the memories of the hurt. I want to continue missing him so I'm constantly reminded of how things were. I don't want to forget."

Gilbert nodded and they passed a fountain. The sightless statue of a woman with a dove in her cupped hands was damp with the mist. Water spouted from the dove's open beak. The two men sat on the fountain's edge. The cold bit through their jeans but neither moved.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever feel like you're getting old?"

Alfred nodded. "More so now."

"Now that Matthew's gone."

"God, that bites."

"But that's not all that's bothering you."

"No."

Gilbert nodded, sniffing and rubbing his hands together. "Al…"

"I want to go home," Alfred blurted out, covering his face with his hands.

"Home?"

"Home, not in my stupid apartment. I want to go home and be held in someone's arms. The last time that happened was thirty years ago…" Alfred's hair, once a splendid pale gold, now was a watery yellow with strands of grey flecked across it.

"You aren't that old." Gilbert chuckled, "I had my fifty-thrid birthday a few weeks ago."

Alfred laughed bitterly, rubbing his head, trying to untangle the knot of stinging behind his forehead. "Just a few seconds ago we were young idiots going to college parties and playing games at Kiku's house."

"Kiku… Have you heard from him?" Gilbert stood, rubbing his frozen legs. "Let's get away from the coast, it's too cold here."

Alfred agreed and they wandered around the park wordlessly for a while yet, before returning to the city.

"Let's grab a bite to eat," Alfred suggested, though he wasn't hungry. Gilbert agreed, despite having little appetite too.

They chose the least busy diner. Alfred ordered a ham sandwich and Gilbert a tune sandwich.

"How long has it been?" Alfred asked, stirring his straw in his cup, rocking the ice cubes around.

"Since I was a soldier?"

"Yes," Alfred nodded. The sky outside continued to fill with clouds, tumbling over from the sea. The waiter came by and set a basket of tortilla chips on the table.

"What feels like a thousand years," Gilbert sighed, "Maybe thirty years, give or take. And you?"

"Twenty. I still remember it clearly, the drafting, the general, cutting my hair short, the billions of push-ups…."

"What did you want during that time, though?"

"To fight,"

"No, where did you want to be?"

"I wanted to be exploring the prairies, the canyons, the mountains. I wanted to tend the rabbits." Alfred stiffened, closing his eyes. "If I could die and be reborn, I would be a bird. I want to soar over the quilt of the land, all the patches down there, laid out for me to explore and see the world."

"That's beautiful."

The waiter swooped by, placing the two plates before Gilbert and Alfred. Gilbert picked up his sandwich and devoured it, for the flavor if anything else.

Alfred picked at his, leaning against his hand. Dark drops of rain shot against the windows, erupting on impact.

"Funny how fighting has made you want peace."

"Strange world indeed,"

The lights flickered on in the diner. The sun could hardly penetrate the clouds, causing shadows to fall inside.

"How old was Matthew?"

"Thirty-seven,"

"That's awfully young." Gilbert held onto his lukewarm glass.

The streets filled with water, splattering the passing cars, giving them a sleek look. The dark liquid pooled in the gutters and trickled in a beaded stream. A young man installed himself in the corner, on a stool. He strung his guitar over his head and licked his lips. His hair fell shaggily over his face and his shoulders were broad. He poised his fingers and began playing a soft melody.

"Would you do it again?" Gilbert asked, listening to the strumming, intertwining in the air with sounds of plates clattering and the low murmur of other patrons.

"Do what over again?" Alfred looked at him, chewing on a piece of bread.

"Life, war, losing everyone…"

"No,"

"Why not?"

"I'm tired. I want nothing more than to slip into the dimensionless, soundless depth of darkness."

"I would do it again if I had the choice. The same joys, the sorrows, the woes, the loss, if only I could see everyone I knew and loved just one more time."

"I always thought you would die with a spectacular fight, Gilbert." Alfred grinned.

"Not with a bang but a whimper, huh? I thought you would die doing something stupid."

"If that's the case then most teenagers would be long gone."

"How was Matthew as a teenager?" Gilbert brought up unexpectedly. Alfred thought for a moment, dabbing a French fry in ketchup and twirling it listlessly between his fingers.

"He was quieter than most, just trying to get that part of his life over with. He didn't have many friends and those buddies that he did have only talked with him over lunch. I hardly saw him, being three years older and all. But when he came home, talking about his latest crush in a decent way…"

Gilbert leaned back against his seat, "Really? I was always complaining and Ludwig would chastise me for being so mean to them. Always with the 'why don't they want me?' with a million zits on my face. Ludwig was always patient, however. He was a very shy child, did you know?"

Alfred raised a brow, replacing the French fry on his plate uneaten.

"He was," Gilbert nodded, casting his eyes downwards, "Hardly saying a word to anyone unless he was asked specifically or spoken to."

"We always expect the younger ones to outlive us," Alfred felt dizzy again. A pain in his eye erupted, as though a needle was being shoved into his pupil. He sipped some water, his hands trembling.

"You aren't well at all," Gilbert observed, "Why don't you see a doctor?"

"Matty would have said the same thing…"

"Then why don't you go?"

"I did go," Alfred said; and it wasn't all a lie. He had been a few weeks earlier, the news didn't elate him.

"What did the doctor say?"

"It's incurable."

"I see."

They paid for the meal and stood outside the glass doors, pulling their hoods over their heads to shelter from the pelting rain.

"Well I'll see you around, Gil." Alfred bade him farewell and started away from him.

Gilbert waved and continued on. He heard a faint mewling from the alleyway. He stopped and checked around his surroundings, crouching before an overturned box. Inside was a lonely kitten, smeared with dirt and neglect. He picked her up, bundling the shivering creature in his coat, and returned home.


End file.
